Page 95 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

Since her first meeting with Elizabeth and Agatha, Darcy’s days had altered in ways she had never anticipated. The duchess and countess had returned to Aphrodite more than once, each visit filled with warmth, laughter, and an ease that continued to astonish her. What began as a polite acquaintance had deepened into genuine friendship, and Darcy found herself increasingly at home with them and with Rebecca.

At first, she had wondered what connection could possibly exist between herself and women so elevated in rank and experience. Those doubts had soon dissolved. Elizabeth and Agatha had spoken candidly of how they came to know Aphrodite, of husbands who had once been governed by indulgence and reckless appetite, and of the devotion, constancy, and love those same men now gave without reserve.

Their happiness had seemed improbable until Darcy witnessed it. Their companionship awakened a longing that had little to do with Sebastian. Since the earl’s death and her mother’s descent into melancholy, Darcy’s life had been governed by necessity and quiet endurance. Responsibility had consumed the place where friendship might once have flourished, and the few companions she had known in the country had gradually faded into distant memory.

How often had she wished for a woman before whom she might set down the burdens she carried in silence, someone with whom she could speak freely, even of the dangerous and consuming love that had taken root in her heart for Sebastian. At last, she had found not one such friend, but three.

Rebecca had also become an unexpected source of counsel. She spoke freely of investments, interest, and the prudent management of income, guiding Darcy toward not merely security but true independence. Beneath Rebecca’s composed exterior lay a keen intelligence and practical understanding of the world that Darcy admired.

She had also discovered that Rebecca was far younger than she first appeared. Only a few days earlier, Darcy had entered her chamber to discuss the arrangements for the forthcoming orgy tableau and found her without powder, rouge, or any other cosmetic artifice. The youthful beauty revealed had startled her. Rebecca had immediately withdrawn into the shadows, and Darcy understood then that the appearance of greater age was another mask, cultivated as carefully as any worn within Aphrodite.

Rebecca guarded her past and spoke of it sparingly. Darcy did not pry where confidence had not been freely offered. Her gaze returned to Agatha’s letter. The prospect of entering a gathering filled with some of society’s most influential figures stirred apprehension, but a faint smile touched her lips.

She would go. A gown of deep, burnished gold waited in her wardrobe, its exquisite edging still untouched and its beauty deserving of an occasion such as this. She would meet new people, engage in lively conversation, drink champagne, and perhaps even dance. If she could not cease loving Sebastian, she could at least refuse to build her entire life around his absence.

A few days later, Darcy stood at the edge of Agatha’s grand ballroom, one gloved hand resting lightly upon her fan as she smiled at the gentleman approaching her. He bowed with proper elegance and requested the honor of the next dance. She accepted and allowed him to lead her onto the floor. The ball had been underway for a little more than two hours, and the night had unfolded with an ease that felt almost dreamlike. Chandeliers cast golden light over a crush of finely dressed guests, while music, laughter, and the low hum of conversation filled the room.

It was every bit as magnificent as the first midnight ball she had attended.

Sebastian rose in her thoughts before she could prevent it. Darcy pressed him firmly away and turned her attention to her partner, a young viscount whose conversation was agreeable and whose manner remained entirely proper. When the musicians began the quadrille, she entered the figures with the same elegance and measured gaiety she had summoned throughout the evening.

This was her third dance, and for the first time Darcy moved through such company with confidence rather than apprehension. No one regarded her with curiosity or marked her as an intruder in a world that did not belong to her. Perhaps the crowded ballroom made close scrutiny impossible, but tonight she found freedom in that anonymity. The ball was a brilliant success, as she had overheard Elizabeth remark, and Agatha glowed with a radiant happiness that drew admiration from every quarter.

When the dance concluded, Darcy thanked her partner and withdrew, already searching for Elizabeth, who stood in animated conversation with the Marchioness of Ambrose. Darcy had taken only a few steps toward them when a lady walking along the room’s periphery with three other matrons stopped so abruptly that those behind her nearly collided.

Shock stripped the color from the lady’s face. A moment later, outrage hardened every elegant line of her features, and the full force of it was directed at Darcy. She slowed. The woman wore a rich gown of deep purple and regarded her with a sharp, assessing intensity, as though Darcy’s presence within the ballroom constituted a personal affront.

Unease gathered beneath Darcy’s ribs. Before she could reach Elizabeth and the others, the lady stepped forward and placed herself directly in her path.

CHAPTER 31

Darcy’s chest tightened. “If you will excuse me⁠—”

“How dare you show your face in our society?” the lady hissed, her voice low, yet pitched sharply enough to carry to everyone nearest them.

Attention rippled through the surrounding guests. Darcy felt the alteration in the room almost as a physical touch: conversation faltered, faces turned, and fans rose with suspicious haste to conceal expressions bright with curiosity.

For one disorienting moment, the ballroom narrowed to the woman before her. Still, Darcy held herself erect, ignoring the dampness gathering within her glove and the confusion tightening beneath her ribs.

“I do not know you, my lady,” she said, her voice composed despite the hard pounding of her heart. “If I have caused offense, it was entirely without intention.”

The lady’s lips curled. “Offense? You presume too much. It is not what you have done, but what you are.”

A deeper hush settled around them. Two of the ladies accompanying her exchanged avid glances but made no attempt to withdraw and grant privacy. If anything, they leaned nearer.

Darcy felt the weight of their scrutiny and recognized, with a sinking certainty, the unmistakable scent of scandal drawing the ton toward fresh blood. “What I am?” she repeated quietly.

The lady stepped closer and lowered her voice, though not enough to prevent those nearest from straining to hear.

“You are the daughter of a woman without honor, a woman who bore illegitimate children and was left to carry the full weight of her shame,” she said with cutting precision. “You are the very image of her, and from the methods you have employed to entangle my son, I can only conclude that your character is equally wanting.”

The accusation struck with brutal force. For the briefest instant, Darcy could not breathe. The room seemed to tilt, and humiliation burned beneath her skin, sharpened by the soft gasps of those who had overheard.

This woman was Sebastian’s mother. The Countess of Raine.

Oh God. She knew.

Cold dread settled through Darcy. “My lady—” she began, her voice steadier than she felt.